Shepherd's Pie
by rainbowstarkid
Summary: Britain finally decides to try and do something nice for America, but ends up nearly killing him.


A/N: wow, that took longer than expected. So, this is basically my late birthday present to myself before school begins. Anyone else starting next week? xP

Before we begin, I have to give a shoutout to my good buddy Gir'sdoomsongofdoom. I met her on this site from a review she gave me. She's an awesome person and writer, and has a great story called "334 Ways for a Country to be kicked out of Walmart." If you're in for a laugh or two or ten, go check it out and give her an awesome review! And favorite it! Thanks a bunch for everything Gir! Or is it Doom..?

Now, onto the story. Enjoy!

* * *

Arthur stood in his kitchen, his olive green eyes staring at the phone on his wall, his arms folded uncomfortably over his chest. He had been standing in this position for quite some time now. "Just do it, Arthur," he muttered through gritted teeth. But he didn't budge a muscle.

He didn't know what was wrong with him. He could fight hundreds of battles against countries that were stronger and bigger than him, yet he didn't have the courage to place a simple phone call? Well, apparently not. But he eventually found it in himself to act otherwise. The Brit counted down from 3, 5, and 10 before he yanked down the phone and, without thinking too hard, dialed the number in his mind. It was the only one he had memorized, besides his own. He hoped he would have time to practice what he wanted to say while waiting for a response, but much to his dismay, America picked up on the first ring.

"Yo, this is America speaking," came his voice.

"Hello Alfred," Britain said, trying to sound as smooth and natural as possible. "Um… how are you doing?"

There was a short moment of silence before America hesitantly said, "I'm good, I guess. Are you going somewhere with this?"

"Well, I was just thinking, it's been getting somewhat, er, lonely around here lately. I was wondering- if you're not busy, of course- maybe you'd like to come over for lunch today?" He bit his lip in anticipation as he waited for a reply.

America paused again before talking. "Wait, wait, wait. You're not gonna like, try to get me drunk but then end up knocking yourself out again are you?"

"What? Of course I'm not, you dimwit. Even if I were, why would I tell you? Uh, but I'm not! I really do just want to spend time… with…" his voice trailed off and his throat seemed to freeze up.

"Hey I think your phone is broken or something," America said. "I didn't hear that last part. But yeah, British dude, I'll totally be there! So uh, is one-thirty okay?"

"…Yes," Britain mumbled, finding his voice. "Goodbye until then." He slammed the phone back on the wall before hearing America's reply. "Phew!" he sighed in relief. "Well, that wasn't too hard, was it? Look at me, getting all worked up about nothing. Now I have nothing to worry about- oh."

He had gotten so worked up about asking America to come over that it had completely slipped his mind that he would have to do the cooking. And even though he loved his own food, not much of the rest of the world did.

On top of that, he hadn't gone grocery shopping in a week. The fridge was practically empty by now, or at least didn't contain enough for a giant meal. "I suppose I could always take him out to a restaurant," Britain considered out loud. "But that wouldn't be as special, would it?" He peered inside the refrigerator and scanned for anything he could cook with. There were several random vegetables here and there, and a Tupperware of ground beef. There was really only one thing he knew how to make with ingredients he had. He was a bit rusty on how to prepare Shepherd's Pie, and he wasn't really sure how old the food was, but whatever, it wasn't like the quality of it would change America's opinion of it. But it was still worth a shot.

"Hi Britain! Do you need any help today?" a squeaky voice chirped from behind him.

"Flying Mint Bunny!" Britain cried with a smile. "Did you come to help me cook lunch? That's very kind of you! I think I _will _need help to bake this meat pie; I've only got two hours before America comes over."

"Aww, you're inviting him to have lunch with you? That's so sweet of you Mr. Britain!"

The country's cheeks turned a light shade of pink. "I suppose it is, isn't it?" he said modestly. "Though I have been wondering, Flying Mint Bunny… Do you think it's too soon to be doing this? We've fought so much in the past… sometimes he's a pretentiously obnoxious git, but then other times…" He shrugged at looked at the green rabbit for an answer.

The creature hovered by his side. "I think it's very thoughtful of you Britain!" it said. "There's no time like the present to fix things up, or even to just enjoy the day together, right? I wouldn't worry if I were you!" The bunny grinned cutely.

Britain nodded. "Thank you, Flying Mint Bunny," he said. "You always give the best advice. Now, let's get cooking, shall we?"

* * *

Two hours later, while the meat pie was baking in the oven, Britain heard a loud banging on the door. "I'm coming, I'm coming!" he said as the noise continued. He swung the door open for his guest.

"Hey, what's up Britain!" America said, stepping inside and striding past the island. "Nice apron," he added with a snort. He kicked off his shoes by the stairway and began walking into the kitchen.

"Oi, this isn't your house you know!" Britain called after him. "And I don't care for your sarcastic tone. You could at least _try _to act dignified and well-mannered while you're here." He sighed to himself. Maybe he _should _have waited a few more decades before trying to be nice.

"Sor-RY," America said. He took a seat at the table while his host opened the oven to check on the food. As a warm aroma filled the air, the American country closed his eyes and sniffed his nose a couple times. "Hey, what's that you're cooking?" he asked.

"Shepherd's Pie," Britain answered promptly. "It's just about ready for eating."

"Shepherd's Pie…." America pondered over the words until something clicked. "Oh, I remember what that is! Yeah, you made that for me once when I was a kid."

"Really!" Britain said, his voice going high pitched. "Funny, I can't seem to remember that." Of course, he did remember it- he hadn't forgotten anything that happened between him and America- but he hated thinking about it. As wonderful as it had been to raise him and be a role model for the young colony, what had come afterwards filled him with a series of unpleasant emotions. It wasn't entirely his fault- but he couldn't help feeling that America was the way he was now because of him.

Arthur cleared his head and cut a large slice of pie for America and a smaller one for himself. Carrying a plate in each hand, he sat down across from Alfred and placed his food in front of him. "Well, I hope you enjoyed it back then," he said, untying his apron and placing it on the chair next to him.

America shrugged. "I don't know. Probably did, but I didn't really know any better back then."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Britain asked in a slightly irritated tone. America avoided the question. He picked up a forkful of food and blew on it before shoving it into his mouth. "Hmm. Not bad, I gotta say."

"Please don't talk with your mouth full- wait, did you just say not bad?"

"Yeah! I mean, it's no French or Italian, but it's all right. Kinda like a hamburger!" he laughed. Britain frowned at the mention of the other nationalities and that stupid hamburger but forced a thankful smile. He shouldn't hand expected anything more. "I'm glad you do enjoy it," he said, and politely sliced himself a piece. As he ate slowly and calmly, America chowed down quickly. He gulped down almost half of his meal before he started conversing. "So," Alfred said. "Why'd you have me over here anyway?"

"Is there something wrong with wanting some company on a Sunday afternoon?" Britain asked, choosing his words carefully.

"No, I'm just asking," America said. "I mean, are you just gonna send me home after this, or are we gonna go somewhere or something?"

"I hadn't really thought about it," Britain said, even though it had passed his mind. It certainly wouldn't hurt to go out for a while. "Is there something you had in mind? What do you want to do today, America?"

"Hm," he said and formed a playful grin. Fast as lightning, he stood up on his chair and raised his knife high up like a sword. "The same thing we do every day Britain!" he shouted heroically. "Try to take over the world!"

Britain coughed on the food he was trying to swallow." Get down from there you _bloody idiot!" _he snapped. "What in God's name is wrong with you?"

"Ahaha- ouch!" the knife in Alfred's right hand fell to the table with a _clink!_ as he suddenly grabbed his side and winced in pain.

"Now what's the matter?"

"It-it's nothing," America stuttered, and sat back in his chair. "Just a sudden stomach cramp, I think."

"Ah, see? That's what you get when you act childish. Now finish your food." Britain waited for the typical whine or moan as a response, but America merely picked at the last bits of his meal while rubbing his side.

Britain decided his pain would go away in a few moments. He cleared his throat and said, "Like I was saying. Do you have any ideas?"

"Um," America said. "Well, there's been a ton of outdoor movies going on lately where I live. It's really cool actually. If you want we can go to one of those!"

Britain imagined him and America lying side by side on a picnic blanket in the grass while the setting sun cast pink and orange beams behind the movie screen. Maybe if it was an action film, he would be able to squeeze his hand at the most intense parts and laugh with him at the awkward and unnecessary romance scenes. Wouldn't that be nice.

"Your films are pretty good," he acknowledged. "It's a deal. But you're paying."

"Aw, come on, man. It's just a- ow…" he scrunched up his face in pain again.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"No, yeah, I'm just getting these weird stomach cramps," America said. "I thought I was pretty used to your food though! Heh heh…" he stopped chuckling as it seemed to hurt him as he did so.

Britain eyed him suspiciously. "Well," he said, getting up and taking their empty plates to the sink. "I was going to save this for later, but you've got a pretty weird stomach. It may make you feel better." He went over to the freezer and pulled out a tub of vanilla ice cream and showed it to America.

His blue eyes lit up when he spotted the dessert. "Ice cream? Awesome, dude! Uh, but would you mind bringing it over here for me please?"

Still a little skeptical, Britain handed him the entire pot along with a tablespoon. "You go ahead and enjoy that," he said, almost demandingly. "I'm going to do the dishes and then we'll head out." He turned back to the sink with a smile as he turned on the hot water. Everything had gone well so far, and now they were going to the cinema together. Things were going even better than he expected. He scrubbed away while humming quietly to himself and watching the tiny soap bubbles float away. In several minutes he was finished washing and drying.

"All right Alfred," he said, "Are you ready to leave yet?" He spun around to face America. His happy mood quickly faded. The country at the table had only taken one or two small spoonfuls of ice cream. This was pretty unusual for him, but Britain might have been able to buy it if it wasn't for the pained expression on his face. He looked dazed and slightly paler than usual. There was even a faint greenish tint to him.

"America?" he repeated.

"Oh, uh, sorry Britain," he said. "Sure, we can go now. Do you have a jacket I can borrow for outside? I'm really cold."

"What? But you were fine a moment ago. Plus, it can't be more than twenty degrees outside."

"I don't know what that is in Fahrenheit," America said. "But it sounds pretty cold." His body shivered remotely.

Britain furrowed his thick eyebrows and pressed the back of his hand to America's head. "That's odd," he said. "You are a bit warm. Does your stomach still hurt?"

"Yeah," America said. "Can I lie down on your couch? At least for a little bit?"

Britain nodded and then shook his head. "No, no, no, my living room won't be sufficient for you. If you'd like, you can go up to my bedroom. In fact you should do that. It's much warmer and more comfortable up there."

"Really?" America said. "Thanks, man. I'm sure it'll go away in a while." He slowly stood up slowly and eased away with his arms around his waist.

"Try not to fall asleep!" Britain instructed. "I'll make you a chamomile tea."

America made a low, "Uh huh," in response as he dragged himself up the stairs. As soon as Britain heard the shut of the door he went straight to heating up some water on the stove. He waited patiently at the table for the kettle to start whistling. "Okay, so he's randomly caught a small cold," he said. "No big deal. It's sure to blow over in a moment." He continued to reassure himself of this, even though there was still that lingering feeling of anxiety.

Arthur twiddled his thumbs and bounced his leg up and down for a while until the water was finally boiled ten minutes later. He carefully poured it into the mug he received from America last Christmas (red white and blue letters spelling out "I'M THE HERO!") that he hadn't even looked at until now. He properly added the chamomile teabag and squeezed and mixed it around with a spoon. Placing it at the edge of the cup, he cautiously went upstairs and down the hall to his room. Holding the teacup in one hand, he pushed gently on the door with the other. Everything looked normal and in place. Fast asleep in his double sized bed was the American nation, snoring lightly. He had mountains of sheets and blankets piled on top of him to stay warm. Britain tiptoed over as to not wake him and set the cup on the nightstand.

"I told you not to go to sleep," he muttered. "Now your tea's going to get cold." He sat on the edge of the bed not occupied by the other country's legs. "But you never listen, do you?" He smirked as he observed him move up and down with every breath. America looked so innocent and calm, so different from his normal self. Almost like a younger version of him. Gradually, memories of their past began creeping into Arthur's mind.

Alfred had gotten sick countless times over his earlier years, and countless times Britain had found himself in the same position as he was in now. Granted, it was much different at this moment- his colony was no longer a child, and they were no longer brothers. But maybe there was more than just brotherhood this time around.

Britain pushed a few sweaty strands of honey colored hair out of America's closed eyes. He put a hand to his cheek and held it there for a second before stroking it up to his forehead. He was significantly warmer than the last time he had felt. "You've got a fever?" he said. Now he was really starting to get worried. Why was Alfred sick all of a sudden? Did he have any allergies? No, that's something that Arthur would know, and he knew it wasn't true.

"Britain… izat you…"

America's voice was groggy and sore as he woke up. His normally piercing blue eyes seemed dull and free of their usual sparkle.

"I was just feeling your temperature," he said quickly, standing up and pulling his hand away from America's face. "It's pretty high, I have to say."

"Do yuh have a thermomuder?"

"A thermometer? Good idea, I'll be right back." Britain left and came back in less than a minute only to find America nearly passed out again. He gave him a small shake and leaned down. "Alfred," he said calmly, wiping the thermometer on his sleeve, "Open your mouth and lift your tongue okay?" America obeyed immediately. It was almost scary to see him in such a pained yet tranquil state.

After waiting a moment, Britain checked the numbers on the small device. He expected no more than maybe 38 (101 F), but when he saw the results, he cursed under his breath. He inhaled and gulped nervously. "America? Are you able to get up?" he asked.

"No," America groaned. "I feel 'ike crap. Whaza madder?"

"You-you've got a fever of 105," Britain said, doing the math in his head. "And it's rising. If you're unable to stand or walk… I'm going to have to call an ambulance." He got up and grabbed the phone on his desk. "You just… just hang tight, okay?"

"Okay," America moaned, surprisingly calm. "Geez, I can barely see straight."

Britain drummed his hand on the desk in desperation as he waited for someone to pick up. "9-1-1, please state your emergency," he finally heard the dispatcher say. Urgently and trying his best to remain calm, he explained the situation and gave his address to the person on the other side, who let him know an ambulance was on its way. "Okay," he said. "Please, please hurry." He hung up and wasted no time in grabbing a wet washcloth from the bathroom and attempting to lower America's fever. Unfortunately as much as he tried, Alfred seemed to stay in the same state of sickness, if not worse.

"Hey, Britain?" America coughed.

Arthur looked down and nodded.

"Britain… I don't wanna die," he managed.

The English country blinked at him a couple times. In front of him he no longer saw the agitating and loud mouthed American. There was just a young and innocent boy with a big heart and big dreams- all of them potentially ruined. He may be an annoyance, but he was Britain's annoyance. Well, not technically anymore, but still. Arthur lifted America's warm hand and squeezed it. "I won't let you, Alfred," he promised.

After a couple more agonizing minutes, he heard the doorbell ring. He sprinted down to answer the paramedics, and from there on out, everything was a blur. He was questioned various times by various people as America was placed on a gurney and rolled onto the emergency vehicle. He watched in a trance as the country's rolling bed was hooked up and the doctors, who constantly barked orders at each other, observed him. He was still conscious during all of the ruckus, but Britain could tell he was doing his best to look brave.

"Sir, we're going to have to ask you to get in the front of the car now," a paramedic told Arthur.

He didn't move his gaze.

"Sir?"

"Yes… Of course. I'm sorry," Britain said. Without a word, he shot one final look at the boy in the back of the ambulance, climbed into the passenger seat of the vehicle and they sped off to the hospital.

* * *

Hours later, Arthur and Flying Mint Bunny were sitting in the waiting room of the hospital. It had been a long time since they had arrived. No one had come to talk to him yet, and he wasn't sure what time at night it was. He was tired and drowsy and had dark circles forming under his eyes but he didn't dare fall asleep.

"Flying Mint Bunny, this is all my fault," Britain said, speaking for the first time since arriving.

"What are you talking about Britain?" the rabbit squeaked.

"It must have been my food that made him sick, somehow. There's no other explanation. Damnit, I knew I should have taken him to a restaurant!" He sighed and jiggled his leg up and down nervously and frustratedly.

"Don't worry, Mister Britain," the creature said, "I'm sure everything will be fine. Haven't you heard the saying, 'no news is good news?'"

"Arthur Kirkland?" A female nurse called out suddenly. Flying Mint Bunny disappeared and Britain stood up quickly. "Yes?" he asked, walking over to her. "Is everything all right? What took so long? Is- is he okay?"

The nurse nodded and Britain let out a huge breath. "Yes Mr. Kirkland, your friend is fine right now. He had a severe case of food poisoning caused by several expired and undercooked food items. But, we've taken good care of him, and he'll have to spend the night here. It shouldn't be too bad from now on, but we want to keep him here just to be safe."

"Oh…" he said. So it was his food. "But how was it that I wasn't affected?"

"Hard to say. It might have been that your portion was fully cooked, or perhaps you've grown used to that sort of food. Just be thankful that you're well. Would you like to visit him now?"

"Oh, I see. And yes, of course!" he said a little too loudly. "I mean, yes, please madam. And thank you."

The young lady walked him down the hall to Alfred's room and quietly opened the door. "Mr. Jones?" she said quietly. "Ah… he's sleeping. But feel free to stay as long as you wish Mr. Kirkland." She opened the door all the way for Britain to step inside. "You know," she added, "It was very smart of you to call when you did. Most folks don't know at what temperature people need to be hospitalized at. Mr. Jones is a lucky young man."

Britain made a small smile. "Thanks madam," he said, and she left him alone with America. He cautiously closed the door and walked towards the bed where he was snoozing quietly.

"Hey, America," he said softly. "Can you hear me? Well, I hope not. Anyway, I'm sorry that I accidentally poisoned you and nearly killed you. I hope you'll be able to forgive me for that someday. I'll be sure to check my food from now on." He scooted over a bit closer. "I'm also sorry we couldn't go out yesterday. Hopefully when you're feeling better we'll be able to. If you're even up to it." He looked down at the sleeping country and leaned down to him. "You're still asleep, right?" he whispered. Then, as soft as his voice, he planted a kiss on the bridge of America's nose.

He held it there for a bit longer than a second when he suddenly felt the country stirring beneath him. Britain pulled away quickly but America was already awake and gazing up at him.

"Hi Britain," he said in a raspy tone. Britain was quiet and glared at him. America smiled out of the corner of his mouth and said, "Well, I guess I really should stay away from your food from now on, huh?"

"Er… yes?" Britain wondered if Alfred had felt the kiss or was just messing with him. "I'm actually surprised you didn't taste it if it was undercooked."

"I guess I'm just not exactly the best at that stuff," America said with a shrug. "Hey, you look tired. Why don't you lie down here?" He scooted over and patted the space next to him.

"Er," Britain said again.

"C'mon," America urged. "I'm not contagious or anything."

"Well… okay," Arthur said, and laid himself down over the covers next to Alfred. He placed his hands on his chest and stared at the blank ceiling, stifling a yawn. Lying down didn't quite help his sleepiness.

"Y'know, all of that stuff you did really kind of reminded me of the old days," America said. "I haven't seen you that nice to me in a long time."

"Yeah? Well, if I had known you were going to live-" Britain retorted, but America interrupted.

"God, Britain, that's not the _point_," he said. "The point is… you saved my life. You were _my _hero."

The smaller country was silent. He couldn't recall any time that America had said anything remotely similar. Even if he had, it would with no doubt have been as a joke or meant to be taken lightly. Alfred didn't seem to be pulling his leg right now. He turned his head to face him and said, "Thank you, Alfred. And… you're welcome."

America smiled at him. "Also," he added quietly, "That kiss was really nice."

Britain felt his face go warm and he turned away from America. "Oh, shut it, you," he mumbled. The other country let out a soft chuckle in amusement. For a while, they were both silent.

"So," America spoke up after a moment. "I'll probably be completely better by Wednesday. I saw this really awesome trailer for this movie about aliens that we should check out. They blow up the Eiffel Tower and that big clock thing you have in London! Whadaya say about that, Britain- Britain?"

But Britain, completely exhausted and finally relaxed, had fallen into a deep sleep at America's side.

"And you say _I _never listen," Alfred sighed. But then he whispered a "'Night, Britain," to the island before reaching over to turn off the lamp. "And thanks." He snuggled closer against Arthur and closed his eyes with a grin on his face.

* * *

A/N: phew! Thanks for reading, and again, go check out Gir'sdoomsongofdoom's profile! Oh, and I don't own Hetalia. But I hope you knew that.


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